


Peanut-butter Jelly

by ya_idjits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: HSAU, M/M, Wow ok, but my absolute otp is sabriel, case!fic, first thingie, hoobly boobly, human!Cas, human!Gabe, i guess, it's nnot too detailed in that aspect (but i'll do a bit more of that later), man i love hsaus, maybe it's cuz i'm still going to high school, maybe underage? idk, so it started out as destiel, soooo, whoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ya_idjits/pseuds/ya_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So my prompt was: high school au where destiel is canon and Cas' math teacher is some sort of monster (like, a more monster-y monster than just being a math teacher), so team free will has to gank her. I sort of wrote it in a twitter-fic format, idk how well that worked.<br/>Eugh. This is the first fic that's not a oneshot that i've actually finished, so... enjoy, i guess :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peanut-butter Jelly

**Author's Note:**

> Even though the two episodes where Cas eats pb & j had already aired, I wrote this waaaay before I saw them. So please do forgive if it sounds... idk, weird or cheesy or some shit.

“Hey,” Dean says, shifting closer to his boyfriend on the bench and breaking the silence. “Cas. You okay, man?”

  
Castiel blinks, frustrated. “Yes, Dean, I’m fine. I’m just concerned about my calculus teacher.”

  
Dean looks like a chipmunk. He struggles to swallow his mouthful of sandwich, and Cas almost laughs. “Why? You think there’s something wrong with her?”

  
“I’m not sure. Actually, to be honest, I think she’s dappling in some sort of witchcraft hoodoo.”

  
Dean laughs, throwing his head back. Cas’ heart flutters at the freckles splattered across Dean’s nose like constellations. When he notices that Cas isn’t smiling but biting his lip nervously, Dean moves in even closer. Cas can smell the peanut-butter and jelly. It’s nice. It’s _real._

  
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  
Cas nods. “If you could lend me the EMF metre for next period, I could find out for sure.”

  
Dean’s brows furrow. “Okay. Just… don’t – if she is… don’t let her hurt you, okay?”

  
“I can protect myself, Dean.”

  
Dean looks away. “I know. I just – I worry, you know? What if something did happen to you? How would I even –“

  
He’s cut off by his boyfriend gently pressing their lips together. Cas can taste that peanut-butter, and it’s more alluring than he thought it would be. He pulls away and presses their foreheads together, staring into Dean’s gorgeous green eyes, and Dean is rendered practically speechless. He’d always had a thing for the colour blue.

  
The bell rings, and Dean fishes in his bag for the home-made EMF metre that he always has. After handing it to Cas and leaning in for another quick peck, he stands up and finishes his sandwich, preparing for his next class.

 

***

 

  
Cas waits until the bell rings again, signalling the end of the school day, and then a few minutes more to make sure that everyone is gone. He pulls the door to his classroom back open, praying that he can be quick and do a scan before his teacher comes back. Slipping in quietly, he tugs the EMF metre out of his bag and moves slowly towards the front of the room – towards the teacher’s desk – noting the energetic humming sounds. As he approaches the whiteboard, they peak, whirring and squealing and –

  
_Oh, god, she’s coming back._

  
Shoving the device back into his bag, he walks quickly towards the doorway, almost running. He pushes open the door frantically and rushes out, bumping into…

  
_Oh, shit._

  
“Castiel,” says a surprised voice.

  
He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “Yes, Miss Lamia?”

  
“What were you doing?”

  
Cas finally looks up, struggling to meet the dull brown gaze without appearing too guilty. Miss Lamia is attractive enough; her hair is always pinned up in thick red curls, and Dean and Sam agree that she has “great tits”. Castiel doesn’t see it, but maybe that’s because he’s not attracted to females.

  
“I, um, forgot my textbook. I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

  
“Don’t be sorry.” She smiles, but it’s cold. “Have a good afternoon, Castiel.”

  
Dismissal. Thank God.

  
“You, too, Miss.”

  
He rushes down the now empty hallway, trying not to throw nervous glances over his shoulder.

 

  
***

 

  
Sam slides into the backseat of the impala, pouting. “I called shotgun this morning,” he tells Cas.

  
“Yes, and I got here first,” Cas retorts, grinning. His eyes crinkle up and Dean’s stomach flops. He clenches his knuckles tighter around Baby’s steering wheel before starting to pull out of the school parking lot.

  
“So? Something wrong with her, or what?”

  
“Yeah, according to the EMF levels.”

  
Sam looks at the two older boys, confused. “What happened?”

  
“My calculus teacher is probably a witch,” Cas explains.

  
Sam’s eyes shine. “Awesome!” There’s a pause. “So, when are we gonna gank her?”

  
Dean snorts. “Calm down, Samantha. We don’t know anything about it. We’re counting on you for some research, you little nerd.”

  
Sam shoves his brother’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

  
Cas grins. “No, no, it’s true. You really are a nerd.”

  
Sam exclaims in protest, poking the back of Cas’ neck. “Hey!”

  
“Shut up, guys, I gotta drive,”” Dean says. Cas can tell without looking over that he’s smiling, but he glances at Dean anyway.

 

  
***

 

  
No gigs in sight. Not one strange death in the entire city of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

  
The next few days are uneventful - and then Sam finds something in the corner of his Spanish Classroom. Little figurines, carved out of bone, which most certainly don’t look Spanish or Mexican. In fact, Sam thinks they look kind of European; maybe Scandinavian? He doesn’t touch them, but makes a mental note to tell Dean and Cas, and do some research.

 

 

***

 

  
“Okay. They’re these things – tupilaks? Yeah. They’re meant to be, like, a shaman’s henchmen or something.”

  
Dean looks up from the TV. “You found something?”

  
“Yeah, I just told you,” Sam says, annoyed. “Come take a look.”

  
Dean rises from his unhealthy-looking slumped position on the couch and stands behind Sam, leaning over so that he can read what’s on the laptop screen.

  
“They made them out of bones – wait, out of parts of children’s corpses? Nasty. I say that if these are what Miss Lamia’s using, we better ice that bitch sooner rather than later.”

Sam just nods in agreement, scrolling down and scanning the facts about Tupilaks. “Oh, ew! Look at how they’re made. Wait, no. Read it out loud, Dean, I dare you.”

Dean sighs. “Stop being such a pussy.” He leans in, squinting at the screen before starting to read. “The shaman would don the anorak backwards, with the hood over his face, and engage in sexual contact with the – oh, what? That’s wrong!”

Sam laughs. “Keep reading.”

Dean sighs. “…With the bones used to make a tupilak, singing and chanting during the entire process, which could take several – several _days_? Jesus Christ,” he exclaims. “I thought her being a math teacher was bad enough, but, man, that’s twisted.”

Sam doesn’t even say anything, he just makes a disgusted face at his laptop.

 

  
***

 

  
“That’s rather disturbing, yes.”

Cas and Dean are sitting On Dean’s bed, discussing the idea of tupilaks.

“So do you think she could have done it?” Dean asks.

“Who knows,” Castiel sighs. “Probably. But I can’t investigate anything further without looking suspicious. I’m fairly certain that she already dislikes me.”

Dean cocks his head, as if to say, _how could anyone dislike you?_ Cas’ mind freezes for a moment, and so does the rest of him, and he has one of those “you’re-way-too-good-for-me, how-did-I-get-this-lucky” moments. Dean seems to think that he’s done something wrong, because his eyebrows knit together, and damn, if that doesn’t just makehim cuter.

“Cas? What did I –“

Cas shakes his head. “Nothing. Just – you’re gorgeous,” He mumbles, blushing and averting his eyes.

“Hey.” Dean caresses his boyfriend’s jawline with his knuckles, causing Cas to look back up. “So are you.”

And that’s all it takes for Cas to break. He turns and hooks a hand around Dean’s waist, tugging him closer, and grips a handful of his hair, pulling him in for a kiss that’s surprisingly aggressive. There’s teeth and tongue and he’s sucking on Dean’s lower lip and Dean is moaning and that turns Cas on so much that he somehow ends up straddling his boyfriend, pushing him down so that he’s lying flat on his back. Cas mouths at Dean’s collarbone, sucking and nipping and making sure that there will be a mark for everyone else to see, that claims Dean as _his_. He still has his hands in Dean’s hair, and he’s carding it gently, playing with the spiky strands and twisting and pulling and then Dean slips his hands up Cas’ shirt to grapple at his shoulder blades and it’s _heaven_.

There’s the squeaking of a door and then a cry of, “Guys, not while I’m in the same building!” They pull apart sheepishly to see Sam standing in the doorway, his features displaying a brilliant, shame-producing bitchface. “I found some more info, in case you two were interested,” he states before retreating down the hallway. Dean sighs.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he calls after his brother. “Be there in a sec.”

He leans in to kiss Cas again, but pulls away before either of them can deepen it and stares at Cas – who is suddenly self-conscious. _What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face? Oh, god, what if –_

“You are definitely gorgeous,” Dean decides happily.

 

  
***

 

  
Jess doesn’t say anything when she glances over at Sam and he’s staring wistfully at Gabriel Novak from across the library, but just smiles sadly.

 

 

***

 

  
Sam sees more of the tupilaks around the school, and Dean and Cas start to see them, too. Sometimes, they’re still, and sometimes they move, but the three boys seem to be the only ones taking notice of the little figurines at all.

 

  
***

 

  
“So she’s involved, somehow.”

“Well, yes, but –“

“The EMF don’t lie, Cas.”

Cas stops in front of his locker, trying very hard to focus on the combination instead of Dean’s broad, muscular form leaning against the next locker over. “Yes. Well, we know about the tupilaks, but we don’t know for sure what she is –“

“Or how to kill her,” Dean finishes. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, sighing before he reads the text and his eyes go wide. “Shit,” he breathes.

“Is Sam okay?” When Dean doesn’t reply, he puts his fingers softly against Dean’s chin, tilting his head up. “Hey. Everyone okay?”

Dean blinks and looks away.

“There’s been a death?” Cas asks.

His boyfriend nods. “Miss Hill.”

They’d done enough research on the tupilaks to know that they were practically unstoppable, unless their controller was killed. The little figurines were sent to follow a target, gain information about them, and then destroy them – unless the target was more powerful than the controller, in which case, they rounded on their creator and destroyed them, instead. But – apparently – that hadn’t been the case here.

“Decapitated?” Cas asks.

“That’s what Sam says.”

Cas sighs sadly and closes his locker.

 

  
***

 

  
“I mean, I guess we’ve seen worse, but, dude…” Sam says, looking down at the bloody, headless form of the late Miss Hill.

“Yeah, it’s creepin’ my cheese,” Dean agrees, wrinkling his nose. He bends down, leaning in to inspect the severed sinew. The teacher’s spinal cord has been shredded, and shards of bone peek out from the flesh. He lets out a low whistle. “Strong little shits.”

Cas nods, even though Dean can’t see him. “I must investigate Miss Lamia more. I’ll acquire her address through Ash.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, okay. If anyone can locate a witch’s lair, it’s mullet man.”

 

  
***

 

  
“Welcome, ladies and gentlefags,” Ash drawls, looking up at them. “What can I do you for?”

“We’re trying to locate the home of my calculus teacher, Miss Lamia. We’ve deduced that she’s a witch.”

“Ah,” Ash says, returning his attention back to his chilly cheese fries (which look disgusting, but, then again, so does most other cafeteria food) and his laptop. “Then you, amigos, have come to the right dude.”

Cas and Dean sit on the bench next to him as he taps away at his keyboard. Within seconds, he’s scrolling through a list of all of the school staff’s personal information.

“Yep, here we go. The address of one Miss Ingrid Caesar Lamia.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Ingrid Caesar? Were her parents high?”

Ash laughs. “Probably. But isn’t everyone?”

Dean and Cas share a glance. “No, Ash. Just you,” Cas says matter-of-factly, and Dean tries to hold in a laugh and ends up going red in the face.

Ash just shrugs. “F’you want her address, grab a pen.”

 

  
***

 

  
“You’re going to her _house_? Cassie, did I ever mention that you are fucking insane?”

Cas sighs. “Yes, Gabriel,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You have, in fact, mentioned that multiple times throughout our lives.”

“Yeah, well, that’s ‘cause it’s true,” Gabe snorts. He leans back on the couch, yawning and reaching his arms above his head. He almost drops the Xbox controller he’s clutching, and when his eyes widen and he quickly pulls his arms back in, Cas has to hold in a laugh.

 

Gabe looks over and grins, mussing his brother’s hair. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Cas says, looking innocent and shoving Gabe’s hand away.

 

  
***

 

  
Sam’s surprised when he walks into his algebra class and catches a flash of orange up the front as he sits down. He blinks, and sure enough, there’s Miss Lamia. Her back is turned to the class; she’s writing some equations on the board.

Sam looks over at Jo, who’s sitting next to him, trying to subtly catch her eye. He succeeds and mouths, _Sub?_

She nods. _Did you do your homework?_

He makes a sour face. _Crap._

She snorts and turns back to the front. Miss Lamia turns around and Sam immediately tries to sink down in his seat, attempting to be inconspicuous. She looks at him anyway, and damn, she must have a sixth sense for hunters or something, because she turns her gaze from him to Jo and then back to him.

“Good morning, class. I’m your substitute, Miss Lamia.” She gestures to the board, and Sam can practically _hear_ the guys in the front row check out her chest. “Once you complete these questions, I’ll be coming around to give you a worksheet.”

A few groans echo through the room at that, and she smiles her cold smile. Sam puts his head down, opens his book and starts to work.

 

  
***

 

  
Gabe knows he's screwed when they’re waiting in line at the cafeteria. Sam’s bare arm brushes his and his heart explodes in his chest, fluttering and dancing and beating so loud that he’s _sure_ the younger Winchester can hear it thumping. But he ignores it and heaps mac and cheese onto his tray, trying not to think about the way that arm would feel wrapped around his shoulders.

 

  
***

 

  
Everyone looks up when Dean walks in – he is, after all, seen as some sort of leader. To be honest, it scares him shitless. And the way he deals with being scared is to be nonchalant and cocky. So when he walks into the classroom that they meet in twice a week for “study time” and four other pairs of eyes meet his, he shrugs and plops down on the floor in between Cas and Sam, slipping his bag off his shoulder and twining his fingers through his boyfriend’s. Jo sips a can of coke, and Sam is grinning at something on his phone. Dean clears his throat and there’s a silence before Gabriel gets the hint and sits up straighter.

“So, Miss Lamia,” he says.

Dean opens his mouth, but Cas squeezes his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, we already checked for hexbags.”

Dean grins and looks around the circle. “I have trained you well, young grasshoppers.”

Gabe snorts. “Easy, tiger, watch who you’re calling ‘young’.”

Dean smirks back. “Oh, I’m sorry, mister ‘I’m two-months-older’.”

“Exactly. So why don’t you take your ‘young’ and shove it up –“

“Guys,” Jo interrupts. “Shut up.”

They oblige, settling for sending ridiculously dirty looks at each other across the little circle.

“So, Miss Lamia,” Gabe repeats. “Nasty, or what?”

Sam nods, glancing at Jo. “Yeah, we had her for a sub in algebra yesterday. Not sure, but it’s almost like she could smell us out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, the entire lesson, the only people she looked at were me and Jo. It’s like she knows we’re –“

“Hunters,” Dean interrupts. “Which means that we gotta gank this crazy bitch before she and her creepy dolls kill anyone else.”

Jo finishes her soda and slams the can down. “Okay. Well if you guys think you can handle it, I’m gonna skip this gig.” She sighs. “I’m really deep in exams right now, and even though icing something evil would feel _really_ nice, I don’t have time.”

 

“Aw, come on,” Dean says. “Stop bein’ a pansy, you’re only a freshman.”

“Oh, eat me. I actually care about my grades,” she snarks, standing up.

Dean looks expectantly at his little brother as Jo leaves. Sam shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll stick with you guys. I got the same stuff she does, but I don’t have the part-time job or the taekwondo or the mother named Ellen.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, okay. Gabe? You in?”

Gabe wrinkles his nose. “Not as in as you guys are. I think four working a case is just too much, so I might sit this one out, too. But if it’s, like, a coven, or something –” He nods, glancing at Sam.

Sam blushes, but no one’s looking. “Thanks, man.”

 

  
***

 

  
Cas is surprised when he catches sight of a square jaw and long brown hair in the hallway that afternoon.

“Meg?”

She spins around and her face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “Clarence! I am _so_ glad I know someone here,” she says.

“Clarence?” Dean growls, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, just a nickname. We were, uh… good friends, back in the day,” Meg smirks, rolling her eyes. “So, what? You two in love, or somethin’?”

“Yes,” Cas says calmly. Dean peeks over at his boyfriend, who wears a cool, stoic expression, and has to fight the urge to pin him up against the wall. Instead, he just squeezes Cas’ hand. The movement, though subtle, catches Meg’s attention, and she glances down, eyes widening at their linked fingers. She steps back, returning her gaze to their faces.

Dean smiles – almost aggressively – when Meg raises her hands defensively. “Okay, sorry. Didn’t know,” she shrugs, turning and letting herself get caught up in the flow of students streaming down the hallway.

 

  
***

 

  
“ _Mine,_ Cas.”

“Yours,” Cas agrees, breathless.

“Louder,” Dean growls against the other boy’s throat, sending vibrations through his collarbone and shivers down to his toes.

“I’m yours, Dean,” Cas gasps, squirming and then – when his movement causes even more friction in the throbbing place where Dean’s thigh is pressed between his legs, holding him against the living room wall – he arches his head back and moans. “Yours,” he chants. “Yours, yours, yours.”

Cas’ deep, gravelly voice rips through whatever self-control Dean has left (which isn’t much), and he pins Cas’ arms up against the wall, biting down hard on the soft, tender skin below his boyfriend’s jaw. He licks and sucks, making sure that Cas will have a mark there that lasts for days. He wants everyone – Sam and Jo and Bobby and Miss Lamia and that bitch Meg – _everyone_ to know that Cas is his and that he is Cas’, that they’re two pieces in an intricate puzzle, woven of starlight and silver and blood and all of the things that make them what they are.

“Castiel,” he breathes, sending tingles through Cas’ skin and teasing the quickly-forming hickey with his warmth.

Cas’ lips curve slightly upwards. “Are we being formal, now, Mr Winchester?”

And Dean just _can’t._ He pushes Cas so hard against the wall, he’s afraid it will crumble. And then he doesn’t care anymore, because Cas’ mouth is back on his, and there’s moaning and sighing and their teeth scrape together and –

“Jesus, could you guys _not_ hump each other in a public place?”

Dean sighs, exasperated, but doesn’t turn around. “It’s our _house_ , Sam. Could you not interrupt us?”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Fine, smartass, I’ll keep this valuable piece of information to myself.”

Cas blushes, but doesn’t try to get himself off of Dean’s leg. “What information?”

“There’s been another death.”

 

  
***

 

  
Dean stares at the corpse sitting against the lockers, straight-backed and headless. Its neck looks just like Miss Hill’s – shredded and torn, with splintered bone breaking the otherwise redness. Blood has dried where it ran in rivulets down the student’s shirt, and is inches away from his discarded bag. Dean makes a disgusted face at the damp, rust-coloured pools caked on the floor. _The school_ definitely _doesn’t pay the janitors what it costs to get dried blood out of tile grout,_ he thinks.

“Seth Delucius,” Sam states, “according to the books in his bag.”

Cas nods. “He was in my calculus class.”

Sam grimaces. “Haven’t found the head, yet.”

 

  
***

 

  
“You seen the news story?” Gabe calls to the kitchen. When all he gets is a reply too muffled to understand, he yells louder. “Hey! Cas! That psycho bitch made the news!”

Cas strides in, holding an apple in his hand. “She did?”

“Well, not _her,_ but…” Gabe gestures for his brother to sit down on the couch next to him.

Pictures of the two victims flash across the screen – first Miss Hill, then Seth. A blonde reporter who looks like she’s had one too many facelifts is saying something in an irritating, nasal whine.

“ _…discovered the body of seventeen-year-old Seth Delucius at Roosevelt High School last night, with his missing body part found close by._ ”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “We had to go look for it.”

Gabe glances over. “You use gloves?”

“We’re just as competent as you are, Gabe.”

“I know, just checking.”

Cas makes a disgusted face at the fruit in his hand. “I don’t think I want my apple anymore.”

Gabe just chuckles before his eyes lock onto Cas’ neck and he reaches over, peeling back Cas’ collar to reveal the dark shape under his jaw. “Woah! Got some action, huh? That’s…” he trails off, the corners of his mouth turning up mischievously. “Really obvious. Actually, I think we have some foundation, somewhere, if you wanna –“

“No,” Cas growls. “What do you think the point of a hickey was, Gabe, especially so high up?”

Gabe’s eyes go wide. “Okaaay! My baby brother’s gettin’ marked.” He pauses and makes a face. “Yeugh.”

Cas snorts and they both turn back to the screen.

“ _…the police are thinking that this is the work of a new serial killer, who they’ve nicknamed ‘Guillotine”. They’ve never seen anything like it before, but are looking further into the case; any tips about suspicious happenings would be greatly appreciated. Please report these by calling your local police station. Back to you, Paul._ ”

 

  
***

 

“It’s okay, Sam.”

“What? No, it’s not. I really like you, Jess.”

She smiles and leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I really like you, too. But I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“No, Jess, it’s not like that!”

She raises her eyebrows and he slumps against the couch. “Okay, so maybe something happened. But that was a while ago, and it didn’t last, and…I just don’t want to fuck things up with you.”

She sighs. “S’okay,” she whispers. “I want you to be happy.”

 

  
***

 

  
Miss Lamia lives on the outskirts of town, in a tiny bungalow house with a neatly clipped lawn and colourful flowerbeds. Cas and Dean skip school on a Tuesday (Tuesdays are the worst) and wait until they’re sure Miss Lamia is teaching before approaching the tiny house and picking the lock on her front door. Cas pushes on it and it swings open easily, revealing furnishings that are just as homey as the outside. A floral print couch, warm yellow wallpaper, small wooden chairs, a fireplace. No sign of witchcraft.

They wander through the house, looking for any – _any_ – signs of hoodoo. There are none. And then Dean notices a dried drop of something rust-coloured, and looks down to discover a bump in the carpet. He lifts it up, and, voila – a trapdoor.

 

“Cas.”

“Hm?”

Dean points to the round circle of metal, which looks very out of place in the creamy tiled floor.

“Ah. Basement?” Cas asks.

“Appears so. Got your knife?”

Cas nods and twists the said blade (iron, of course) in his hands nervously as his boyfriend wrenches open the trapdoor. A shiny metal staircase that looks extremely out of place in the little cottage leads down to a dark room. As they carefully descend, more of the basement becomes visible – there’s rows of shelves everywhere, holding jars of liquid with plants and body parts and god-knows-what floating inside. There are symbols in Latin and other dead languages lining the walls, and at the far end of the room, on an altar –

“Bingo.” Dean clicks his flashlight on and creeps towards the stone table, which has tupilaks of various sizes and colours strewn about on the surface. Cas follows, warily eyeing the little figurines. He longs to link his fingers into Dean’s, reassure them both that everything’s alright, but he knows that this would just distract them and make it harder to fight, if need be.

“Hey. You see that?”

There’s a silence before Cas sighs. “One of them moved, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

They slowly advance towards the altar, knives at the ready. The tupilaks show no signs of life, even when Dean gets so close to the altar that he could reach out and grab one. The two boys meet eyes and make a silent agreement: Dean will stay and watch the tupilaks, and Cas will search the basement for any information.

After thoroughly combing through the shelves, he has found nothing but bowls full of bones and a large book covered in satanic, ancient European symbols. Maybe Greenlandic? Cas can’t tell. He sets the book on the bottom step of the cold metal staircase and pulls two hammers out of his bag, creeping towards Dean and handing him one. Together, the turn to face the altar and eye the tupilaks; there must be at least ten. Dean takes a deep breath and looks at his boyfriend, nodding. They raise the hammers, and –

_CRACK!_

Two tupilaks down, eight to go. The little figures still show no signs of life. But then, when there’s only one left (the biggest, ugliest one), Dean raises his hammer and something grabs his wrist from behind. He yelps, twisting to face a shock of orange –

_Shit!_

“Duck!” Cas screams. Dean takes the hint and shoves himself to the ground, just as Cas’ knife flies over his head, sinking itself into Miss Lamia’s neck. A spurt or crimson splatters against the walls as the blade meets little resistance against the teacher’s pale skin. She makes a gurgling, shrieking sound and falls over, landing on the hilt of the knife and shoving it all the way through her neck – the iron tip pokes out the other side.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean winces. Cas croaks an agreement. But they set to work tying the bitch up with the heavy duty rope that peeks helpfully out of Cas’ bag. She groans and gurgles, unable to form coherent words, but also unable to die. Cas is only slightly sympathetic; though she may have been one of his teachers, one who gave him good grades and told the other boys off for picking on him because he was gay, she’d still killed two people using dark magic.

“S’okay, Miss,” Dean says once she’s trussed up in a sturdy wooden chair. “We haven’t chilled any chicken feet yet, so you’re safe for now.”

She glares at him and he smiles, sarcastically apologetic. He turns to Cas and jerks his head towards the staircase; they’ll come back tonight, when they’re more prepared, and finish the job. The two boys chalk a binding symbol on the floor and situate the chair holding Miss Lamia in the centre, ensuring that she can’t get away. Cas shoves the spell book in his bag, vowing to salt and burn it when they get home. But as they exit via the shiny, cold stairs, neither of them remembers that there’s still one tupilak left.

 

  
***

 

  
“I’m telling you, Bobby, we were fine! Why do you gotta be so goddamn protective?”

“Well, I dunno, boy, maybe it’s ‘cause you’re like my son! If you’da been killed –“

“Well, I wasn’t killed! And I’m not gonna get killed, I can protect myself!”

“Bullshit! If Cas hadn’t been there, saving your ass, you’d be as dead as the damn stuff we hunt!”

Dean can’t think of a good argument against that, so he storms off instead, slamming the front door behind him.

Sam finds him, an hour later, sulking in the backseat of the Impala, which is parked in the middle of the scrapyard. Even just standing next to the car, Sam can hear “Highway to Hell” blaring out of his brother’s earphones – a sure sign that he’s in a foul mood. Sam takes a moment to laugh at the way Dean is splayed out in the backseat with his eyes squeezed shut and his brows lowered, angrily mouthing along with the words.

“Dean.” When his brother doesn’t answer, Sam leans in through the rolled- down window and taps Dean’s shin, causing him to jump and rip out his earphones, glaring at his little brother.

“What?”

Sam huffs out a sigh and shakes his head, opening the passenger door and sliding in. They sit there for a while, listening to the music blare out from Dean’s earphones.

“Hey,” Dean sighs. He opens his mouth to say something, and then shuts it again, looking away.

Sam understands that his brother’s trying to thank him. He just nods, smiling tiredly.

 

  
***

 

  
Cas doesn’t notice the dark shape flitting in the windows and hiding in the shadows until Gabe rushes into the kitchen.

“You know there’s something in the house, right?”

“What?” Cas’ speech is muffled by his mouthful of Whitecastle.

Gabe almost tell his brother he looks like a friggin’ chipmunk, but then he sees a shadow flicker in his peripheral vision. He whirls around.

“No! Gabe!” Cas hurriedly swallows his mouthful as he steps in front of his brother, ushering him back towards the sink. They’re both tense, wary of the ivory creature standing at knee-height in the middle of their kitchen. Its features are twisted and gruesome, and its left side is stained scarlet with Miss Lamia’s blood.

_Dammit! I knew we forgot something!_

The tupilak doesn’t move, but simply stands there, looking strange and ancient in front of the cereal cabinet. “Meanersorit!” Cas shouts, pulling something out from under his shirt – a tiny tupilak on a long black cord. Its body, just like the larger one’s, is backwards, but unlike the tupilak standing in front of them, Cas’ amulet wears a content expression. The larger, blood-splattered tupilak immediately backs away from the tiny ivory figurine, turning and bolting out of the house.

There’s a moment of silence before Gabe takes his brother by the shoulders and turns him around. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

“I, um…”

“What did you say, Cas? And in what language?”

“Uh, I shouted, ‘Look out’ in Greenlandic.”

There’s a silence while Gabe stares at his brother in disbelief.

“Dean didn’t know,” Cas mumbles.

“Know what?”

“That I took some bone. Uh, from Miss Lamia’s basement,” Cas admits, flushing red.

“Woah, woah, woah, wait. That’s what you’ve been doing upstairs all afternoon? Carving a fucking tupilak?”

Cas just sighs, defeated.

“Cas. Please tell me _exactly_ what the hell just happened.”

Cas takes a deep breath. “Yes, I have been carving multiple figurines for our protection. After I, uh, burned the spell book…”

He trails off, and Gabe stares at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

“When Dean and I investigated Miss Lamia’s house, we found various bones in her basement. We discovered last week that there are good forms of tupilaks, that don’t need magic in order to protect.”

“Good. So you didn’t-?”

“No, Gabe, I didn’t have sex with a bone whilst chanting in Greenlandic.” Gabe visibly relaxes, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Cas moves so that he’s beside his brother, with his back to the sink. “They’re crude, but they should be enough to protect us. Uh, here.” He takes another amulet out of his pocket, shoving it at Gabriel. “I had to eat, but I was just about to drive to Dean’s and deliver the tupilaks. I wasn’t positive that they would work, but…”

“They did,” Gabe finishes. “So, what now?”

 

  
***

 

  
They don’t bother knocking; they both spend so much time at the Winchester’s home that they practically live there.

“Cas? What –“

“Here.” Cas shoves two necklaces at Dean and Sam. “I didn’t know if she would be able to create more somehow, so I… I prepared,” he finishes lamely.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Dean growls. “It’s nine o’clock at night, Cas. You couldn’t call and say, “Oh, here’s something that will possibly stop you from getting killed”?”

“Dean,” Cas snarls. “Look. Look at my hands.” He holds them out. They’re swollen, covered in cuts, and his left palm has a large bruise spreading from his thumb to his wrist.

Dean immediately steps forwards, his face falling, and gently takes his boyfriend’s hands in his. Cas looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t jerk away.

“That’s from carving your fucking tupilaks. So I’m _sorry,_ I’m sorry I didn’t call, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I’d stolen some enchanted ivory, I’m sorry I didn’t remember that we forgot to smash the last servant, I’m sorry that I didn’t call to tell you when said servant broke into my house and almost killed me. I’m so, _so_ sorry that I spent all afternoon cutting up bones with a blunt knife so that the love of my life and his baby brother wouldn’t get beheaded by black magic. I’m sorry that the black magic got to me and _my_ brother first. I’m sorry I survived. I fucking _sorry,_ Dean.”

When Cas finishes his rant, he tries to turn away, but Dean catches him by the shoulders. Cas still doesn’t meet his eyes. Sam looks at Gabe and jerks his head towards the hallway, and Gabe takes the hint. They exit, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the living room.

“Hey.”

Cas finally looks up, expecting Dean’s gaze to hold anger or disappointment. Instead, he’s surprised. Dean is smiling softly, his brows knit together. He almost looks… worried.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean whispers.

“But I –“

“Hey. Shhh,” Dean says, circling his thumbs on Cas’ shoulders. “I’m grateful.”

“You’d better be,” Cas manages to choke out.

Dean chuckles, leaning in to rest his forehead on his boyfriend’s. “If anything, _I_ should be sorry. You walked in here, giving me something to protect me, and I snapped at you.”  
He leans even closer. “I was scared. I thought something had happened –“

“Something _did_ happen, Dean.”

Their lips are almost touching. Dean’s hands move up to Cas’ face, cupping his jaw, and Cas’ arms slip around his boyfriend’s waist. It’s a whisper, barely audible, but it’s what almost makes Cas break down and cry.

“I love you.”

And then Cas closes the distance, leaning forward for a long, chaste kiss. It’s nice; normally, they would be grappling at each other’s clothes and frantically, hungrily kissing everything they could reach, but this kiss is… it’s sweet. Just lips against lips, no tongue or teeth or moaning or hair-pulling.

“I love you, too.”

 

  
***

 

  
Sam tries not to look over his shoulder as he and Gabriel walk down the hallway. He hopes his brother will sort out his shit and deal with his temper before tonight – hunting with two people who don’t get along is awkward, uncomfortable torture. Plus, he has to put the chicken feet in the freezer if they’re going to chill for the right amount of time. By the time they get to the kitchen, Sam is staring into space, lost in thought.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Gabriel nudges his shoulder. “You alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. Fine,” Sam says distractedly. “I just can’t remember if the chicken feet are meant to stay in there for forty minutes or forty-five.”

“Forty,” Gabriel confirms. He tosses the packet to Sam, who sticks it in the freezer and sets a timer. “You sure you’re okay?”

Sam flushes. “Just… Dean and Cas, they sort of remind me of…” he trails off, his flush growing deeper.

“Yeah,” Gabe murmurs, his voice broken. They both stare silently at the floor.

“One week, Gabe. Seven of the best days in my life.”

“I know.” Gabriel curses himself as his voice cracks. “But you got Jess, now, kid. Never would’a worked, anyway,” he adds in a strangled whisper.

Suddenly, Sam surges forward, leaning into Gabriel and wrapping his arms around the older boy. Gabe tenses and then melts into Sam, curling his arms around him and resting his head on his plaid-covered shoulder. They stay like that for a while, just embracing silently. It’s warm and…nice. It’s really, really nice; they haven’t touched like this for months.

 

They hurriedly pull away when footsteps sound in the hallway.

 

  
***

 

  
“So, Granola. You ready to head out?”

Sam rolls his eyes at the nickname and nods. “Got everything?”

“Let’s see,” Dean holds up his fingers, looking at Cas to confirm the answers and folding down his fingers as his boyfriend nods. “Chilled chicken feet? Nettles? Violet oil? Iron goblet? And we’ve got the tupilaks –“ he flashes Cas a sheepishly thankful look “- and one of us’ll have to give some blood, as per usual.”

Sam nods, zipping the duffel up and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll do that.”

They trek down the hallway, Dean shouting, “We’ll be back in a bit, Gabe!” upstairs before they leave the house.

 

  
***

 

  
The door to Miss Lamia’s cottage is hanging by its hinges, open wide and partly gone. Dean carefully pushes the remainder of the splintered wood aside, glancing back with wide eyes at his two companions.

When they clunk down the steps to the cellar and flip on the crappy fluorescent lights, they’re met by the sight of the tupilak holding Miss Lamia’s head aloft, seemingly confused by her still wildly-rolling eyes and twitching jaw. She clacks her teeth together as the three boys stare at the grotesque sight. The teacher’s body is still bound to the chair, with a bloody, broken neck poking out of the thick rope.

 _Right,_ Cas realises. _If the target is more powerful…_

Sam stares dumbly at the body, almost letting the duffel slip off of his shoulder. Dean swallows and glances at Cas, who gives him a comforting nod – despite his blue eyes being  wide and nervous.

 

“Sam,” Dean mutters. He has to hold in a laugh when his brother looks around like a startled animal. “We still gotta do the spell. She ain’t dead yet.”

“Yep, on it,” Sam replies, setting the bag down and unzipping it to collect the spell’s components. The tupilak, it seems, is just as stuck as its victim inside the binding circle that Dean and Cas chalked there earlier that day. Dean catches the stick of chalk his brother tosses at him now, and kneels down to draw on the cold cement. Cas leans over Sam, extracting a scroll from the bag and unfurling it, preparing himself to read. Sam arranges the nettles in the chunky iron goblet, almost like a bouquet, and uncorks the tiny black bottle of violet oil, adding it to the mixture. The smell of it is strong and soothing, but fails to balance out the stench of human flesh that sticks to the sides of Sam’s throat.

“Sammy.” Dean motions towards the iron blade peeking out of the unzipped duffel. Sam takes the hint, drawing it out after he hands the goblet to Dean.

_Chicken feet. Check._

Dean makes a face at the cold severed limbs in his hands and adds them to the goblet.

_Chalking symbol. Check._

He positions the cool, tarnished iron in the middle.

_Blood sacrifice._

“Sam?”

“Yeah, you ready?”

Dean nods, leaning back on his haunches as his brother draws the knife across his forearm and holds it over the goblet.

“Furor divina virtue in infernum…” Cas’ voice, deep and rough, washes through the basement. “Eam detrude.” The tupilak drops Miss Lamia’s head when light starts to bleed out of the edges of her mouth. It lands on the floor with a dull thud, those iconic orange curls muffling the sound, and rolls to the edge of the binding symbol, leaving a broken trail of red that looks almost black on the concrete. “Ego voco impetus –“ Dean leans even further away from the goblet as it starts to smoke “– delere vos calem –“ Cas’ eyes aren’t quite as blue in this light, but they are still bright and cold. “ – et infernum.”

With a groan, the light spilling out of the teacher’s lips brightens, making the three hunters squint, and then peaks in an incredibly brilliant flash of white, leaving them blinking.

There’s no body.

 

 

***

 

  
The last tupilak, still trapped by the powdery white lines crisscrossing in front of it, is easy to target. The hammer meets little resistance.

 

  
***

 

  
“Gabe. Gabe! Hey, it’s not your fault.” Sam charges up the stairs after the older boy. “Gabriel, listen to me, dammit! They were gonna find out sooner or later!”

Gabe’s bedroom door is locked. Dean and Cas are downstairs in the living room, probably wondering what the hell is going on. After all, they did just find out about a heavy, one-week-long relationship between their brothers. After they closed up the case, the Winchesters had decided to crash at the Novak’s for the night – movies, pyjamas, a few beers, what could go wrong? A lot, apparently.

Gabe had always had a big mouth.

 

  
***

 

  
Gabe listens to Sam hammer at his door.

_Dammit, you moron. Why did you have to go and open your dumb fucking mouth?_

Sam had been blushing far too much for “Hey, babe, pass me the remote,” to be passed off as a joke.

 

  
***

 

  
“Gabriel Novak, you open this door right now, or I swear to Chuck I will –“

Sam yelps with surprise as he falls through the doorway. Maybe he’d been leaning against the door a little bit too hard. He blushes again when Gabe helps him up, both of their hands warm and shaky. Gabe looks like he wants to punch himself.

“Sorry,” he babbles. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out, I –“

Sam slaps him and he pauses before mumbling, “Thanks.”

There’s another long silence. Gabe opens his mouth to say something and Sam grabs him around the waist, snarling as he leans down and furiously presses their lips together.

“Just shut _up_ – for – once – in your goddamn life,” he growls between kisses.

He grips Gabriel’s hair, pulling just shy of too hard, and the older boy groans and forces his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam has been waiting for this – wanting to do this – for weeks, months, and judging by the little sounds that Gabe’s making that are going straight to Sam’s cock, he has, too.

They freeze when they hear laughter in the hallway.

“Sammy, you filthy, _filthy_ hypocrite!”

Sam pulls away, looking dazed. His lips are shiny pink and kiss-swollen. “What?”

Dean puts on a dumb, whiney voice. “Guys, not while I’m in the same building!”

Cas, next to him, stifles a laugh. “By definition, Sam, you are a hypocrite.”

Gabe slams the door in their faces, ignoring the teasing protests of, “Hey!” and “What do you think you’re doing, Novak?” in favour of crashing his lips back on to Sam’s.

The kiss is deep and hot and heavy and they barely make it to Gabe’s bed before he’s pulling away so he can yank Sam’s shirt off. He moans and moves away from Sam’s mouth to kiss his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Sam’s already half hard, and leans in so that he’s pressed against Gabe’s jeans. The pressure makes him gasp, and he digs his fingers into Gabriel’s waist, pulling the soft cotton of the older boy’s t shirt taut. He can already feel marks starting to blossom along his collarbone. Panting, he cups Gabe’s cheek and guides their mouths back together.

Gabe sighs against the other hunter’s lips and draws back, looking grim. “Jess.”

Sam slumps. “Fuck.”

Gabe tries really, _really_ hard not to run his hands up Sam’s sides, not to feel the warm, corded muscle laced over his ribcage. So instead of leaning in to take one of Sam’s nipples between his lips (which he would absolutely _love_ to do), he goes for the safer option: handing the younger boy back his shirt and then leaning away.

“Shit. I’m gonna… what do I do, Gabe? What do I tell her? I mean, she –“

Gabe cuts him off with a small peck on the lips before standing up.

“Shhh. We’ll figure it out.”

Sam nods.

 

  
***

 

  
They do. Jess doesn’t cry but Sam does and Gabe stays as far away from either of them as he possibly can for a while. But Jess asks can they stay friends, please? And Sam reassures her they can, and when a dick called Brady who’s been hitting on her for months finds out and tries to make a move, Gabriel hits him so hard he has a black eye for a week.

Jess smiles. “Thanks.”

He grins back. “No problemo.”

And they agree that, yeah, this could work.

Jess and Sam are still best friends. And, at night sometimes, when the headboard is thumping against the wall and Dean is yelling at Gabe to shut the hell up, Sam hears her in his head.

_I want you to be happy._

He’s pretty damn happy.

 

  
***

 

  
“Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

There’s a silence as Dean cheerfully munches on his peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Cas takes the opportunity to look at his boyfriend, not even attempting subtlety, to drink in the sight of him. His vibrant jade eyes and his strong jawline and the freckles that Cas has decided are the what the stars modelled themselves after.

“…May I have some of your sandwich?”

Surprised, Dean raises his eyebrows in a sort of, “Sure, why not?” way and holds it out for Cas to have a bite.

 

  
***

 

  
They keep the tupilak amulets, just in case.

 

  
***

 

  
“’Night, guys.”

“Sleep tight, Granola.”

Sam grins and shuts the door softly, so as not to wake Cas, who’s leaning against Dean’s shoulder on the bed. Dean smiles at his boyfriend’s closed eyes and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. He inhales Cas’ pure, warm scent and shifts carefully so that they’re both practically lying down.

“Love you.”

And maybe it’s just his imagination, and maybe it’s the long, graceful shadows of Cas’ eyelashes, dipping in slumber, but he thinks Cas smiles.

 

 

 


End file.
